


well I get my kicks (oh yeah)

by notsafeforowls



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Missing Scene, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 17:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsafeforowls/pseuds/notsafeforowls
Summary: There's no point in wasting a good joint. Or, as it turns out, some alone time.(Contains spoilers for 4x01 The Virgin Gary.)





	well I get my kicks (oh yeah)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Kicks by Barns Courtney.

Nate drums his fingers against the tree root that’s digging into his leg, half listening for sounds the rest of the team are in trouble, and watches Mick pull Jerry Garcia’s joint from his pocket and light it.

 

“What?” Mick asks when he eventually notices Nate watching him. He leans back a little more, until he’s leaning right against the tree, and makes a point of taking a long drag. He blows the smoke off to the side, downwind, before holding the joint out to Nate. “It’s not as if we’re going to give it back, is it? Why waste it?”

 

That is… actually a pretty good point. If the unicorn doesn’t kill them all, they’re going to be out of here before Woodstock is over. Plus, it’s weird to go and return something you stole. It’s not like they gave him back his glasses after Mick stole them, anyway. And their only job today is to be the back-up if the screaming gets too loud or the unicorn starts killing even more people. Which is great because neither one of them is exactly stone-cold sober.

 

“Thank you, evil unicorn,” Nate says, more to himself and a little to the evil unicorn than to anyone else as he stretches out on the grass, careful not to spill the bottle of beer he’s still holding in one hand, but Mick grunts a response all the same.

 

Speaking of Mick… Nate rolls over, intending to grab the joint before Mick can smoke it down to nothing. It is _his_ stolen joint, after all. His aim isn’t great, though, and between trying to grab the joint and avoiding stabbing himself with the tree root, and trying to keep the beer in the bottle, he ends up half-sprawled across Mick’s legs, his left hand resting high up on Mick’s thigh.

 

It would be easy enough to make excuses. Blame it on the beer, or maybe just the adrenaline left over from finding out the evil unicorn wanted to kill them and had drugged them up all ready to be dinner. Mick gives him time, too, more than enough time to move his hand, but Nate stays where he is, bolstered by the way that Mick’s watching him.

 

“My turn,” Nate forces out, and he stretches out to grab the joint. His other hand presses on Mick’s thigh harder than absolutely necessary. He misses as Mick flicks his hand a little and takes the joint just out of his reach. Nate slides a little closer as he sits up to try again, ending up awkwardly straddling Mick’s leg. “Hey, that’s not fair.”

 

“Really? Looks fair to me, Pretty.” Mick takes a long, slow drag and blows smoke off to the side before handing it over. His hand is warm, despite the slight chill in the air, and Nate smiles when their fingers brush.

 

There’s a little voice in the back of Nate’s head, which sounds suspiciously like his old college roommate, which is telling him to move. And, hey, even back then, Thomas had a point. Some people get sleepy when they mix weed and alcohol. Nate? He gets horny.

 

All things considered, Nate decides as he smokes and watches Mick grab another bottle of beer from the side, Mick’s doing a surprisingly good job of pretending that there’s nothing even slightly weird about smoking with someone and them getting progressively more and more on top of you. Or maybe there isn’t for him. He’d been a criminal before they met, after all. Maybe smoking weed with someone’s hand inches away from your crotch had been a normal thing. Maybe criminals do things like that in Central City. Nate’s never really taken an interest in any crime that wasn’t historical. He doesn’t think that Mick was ever the grave-robbing type, so that’s about a quarter of his knowledge deemed useless anyway.

 

The problem is, Nate’s not sober enough for this. Maybe it’s the beer – or the bottles he’d finished before leaving the ship, between the unicorn’s party slime wearing off and having to go and see Sara and Constantine – or maybe the weed really _is_ going to blow his mind, but Nate’s mind is wandering. Because all he can think about is how warm Mick’s thigh is under his hand, which makes him think about Aruba and, God, he doesn’t need to think about Aruba right now. Definitely doesn’t need to think about the number of times he walked in on Mick with someone, _really_ shouldn’t watch Mick take back the joint and think about how that hand would feel on him. Or how a lot of other things would feel.

 

The stay there, too far away to really hear the others setting up, passing the joint back and forth until it’s burned down almost to nothing, and then switching to the beers. Nate stays where he is, still a bit too close to Mick but he forces himself to look away when Mick glances at him and raises an eyebrow like he’s about to _ask_.

 

Nate’s wondering if they should maybe move closer to where the others are working. They don’t want Gary to end up being killed by the unicorn. That’ll definitely bring their ratings down. Or get them fired. And probably get Sara dumped, and no one wants that.

 

“You got something you want to tell me, Pretty?” Mick asks just as the attempt to send the unicorn to hell is obviously picking up.

 

Nate glances back to find Mick looking at him, or more accurately, looking right at his –

 

He feels his face heat and judging from the way that Mick’s expression shifts from mild amusement to something a bit more sinister, he’s got to be bright red now.

 

“It’s nothing,” Nate mumbles, sitting up straighter, ready to take a tree root right in that sensitive part of his knee if it means that Mick stops looking at him like that.

 

Mick bends his leg just enough that his knee is pressing lightly against Nate’s crotch, effectively stopping him from going anywhere. “Doesn’t feel like nothing to me.”

 

And, fuck, that feels good, even with his jeans being way too tight right now.

 

There are so many possible answers that Nate freezes for a few seconds. It’s tempting to just say that it’s _just_ because of the weed, or because the unicorn glittered them up for dinner and he’s just happy not to be an option for bait, or even claim it’s because he hasn’t got laid in a while (which at least is kind of true because there hasn’t been anyone since Amaya.) But Mick looks genuinely curious and Nate’s just tipsy enough that he’s feeling a little bit brave.

 

“I went with you to commit a felony,” he hears himself say. “I introduced you to my parents. I got shot for you. _Twice_. Of course it’s something.”

 

And, fuck, maybe that’s the wrong thing to say, because Mick’s still watching him and Nate’s never seen this expression before, not even in Aruba or Vietnam or when they first met, and he has no idea what the hell it even means because it’s a little bit like his ‘are you shitting me?’ expression from when Oliver suggested that Mick take Nate along but there’s something strangely vulnerable about it that reminds Nate painfully of Vietnam and—

 

Mick puts down the beer and sits up a little straighter, a bit closer.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

But Mick’s already sliding one hand up Nate’s back to the back of his head, his thumb rubbing lightly, and his fingers dip under the Nate’s shirt.

 

“You’re an idiot, Pretty,” Mick says, and Nate doesn’t have time to ask _why_ before Mick pulls him forward kisses him, and Nate’s almost surprised that it’s so gentle.

 

It doesn’t stay gentle for long, though, and Nate shoves Mick back against the tree, nipping at his bottom lip hard enough that Mick gasps quietly. There’s a lot of noise coming from the rest of the team now, but Nate hardly hears it as one of Mick’s hands moves down to grab at his ass.

 

Nate fumbles with Mick’s stupid belt, trying to get it undone. It would probably be easier if he didn’t keep pausing to grind down against Mick’s thigh. Oh, it’s mutual. _Very_ mutual, actually. Nate grins against Mick’s mouth and carefully angles his knee until it’s pressing right against Mick’s hard-on. Mick groans. Good. Two can play at that game. Mick beats him to it, somehow managing to get Nate’s belt unbuckled with one hand while Nate’s still trying to work out if Nate got some kind of evil future belt from Gideon or something.

 

He can’t really get Nate’s jeans down very far because Nate’s still half-straddling him, but Nate lets out a whine as Mick’s rough hand closes around his cock. He’s not sure if he’s glad that Mick’s managed to find time to get his gloves off or disappointed.  

 

“Fuck, Mick.”

 

“Yeah, just like that.”

 

“Oh, wait, wait, wait,” Nate mumbles, forcing himself to pull away, suddenly aware of just how close the others are. And how dead they’ll both be if Zari finds them groping each other in the middle of Woodstock let alone doing anything else. “Not here, uh, we need to go back to the ship.”

 

Mick glances in the direction of the others, and for a second Nate actually thinks he’s going to brush off how likely it is they’re going to be caught. Instead he says, “Your room,” without taking his hands off Nate.

 

 *

 

Gideon opens the doors to Nate’s room without either of them saying anything, and Nate spares a second to be thankful for her, even if he’s sure that she’s going to use this against one or both of them at some point in the future. Or record it for some weird kind of porn database. He doesn’t really have long to think about it before he drags Mick through the door.

 

“Hang on, these were clean on,” Nate says as he pushes Mick back onto the bed and turns his attention to getting the rest of his clothes off. There’s already going to be a grass stain on one of the knees of his jeans, but he can at least make sure nothing else gets on them. He hates having to do extra laundry. By the time he’s finished undressing, he expects to find that Mick’s done the same, but Mick’s sitting on the edge of the bed instead just… watching him as he very slowly removes his shirt. “What?”

 

There’s a moment where it seems like Mick is actually going to say something before he jerks his head to the side. “Nothing, you’re just taking a long time. Hurry up.”

 

“You’re so bossy.” He listens anyway, though, waiting until Mick’s finished taking his clothes off – he just leaves them in a pile beside the bed – before pushing him back lightly so that he can straddle him again. “How do you want to do this? I think I’ve got a couple of condoms, but I’ll need to get Gideon to create some lube.”

 

“No time, the boss’ll want us ready to leave soon.”

 

Instead, Mick pulls Nate down until Nate’s lying almost completely on top of him, kissing him much rougher than before, exactly the way Nate always imagined Mick kisses (or at least how he’d imagined before Aruba), sliding the fingers of one hand through Nate’s hair as he slides the other between their bodies. And, uh, that’s nicer. That’s way better than nice. He pulls away a few centimetres, searching for something to say that’s more than _fuck, that’s good_ , and comes up blank because _fuck, that’s good_ , but Mick pulls him back before he can even try to say anything, kisses and bites a line along Nate’s jaw.

 

Mick’s all blazing heat under him, and Nate suddenly feels frantic and starved, his hips jerking hard against Mick’s, seeking out that perfect friction.

 

“I need to fuck you like this one day,” Mick murmurs, biting Nate’s earlobe so lightly that Nate doesn’t think there’s even going to be a mark. The feeling, though, that’s going to stay with him for a while, especially the way it goes right to his dick, trapped between their bodies, trapped between Mick’s hand and Mick’s cock. “Get you to ride me, maybe even get you to come first, keep fucking you after.”

 

And, embarrassingly, that’s all it takes. Nate barely manages to choke out, “ _Mick!_ ” before he comes.

 

“It’s been a while,” Nate says, ready to hide in the Waverider’s bathroom if Mick makes some kind of joke about him being a minute man or something along those lines (it’s been more than a minute, Nate’s sure of it), but if Mick cares about how quickly this is going to be over, he doesn’t let on, just grabs Nate’s hand and manoeuvres it so that he can drag his fingers through the come smeared across his stomach and – _oh_ – guide Nate’s hand right back to his cock.

 

Nate’s going to blame this on the orgasm in the future, maybe even tomorrow morning, or maybe it being a really bad idea to mix weed and beer, but he looks right at Mick, suddenly far more aware of the way that Mick’s looking at him than the feel of hot, slick skin under his own fingers. There’s something painfully exposed about the way that Mick’s watching him.

 

And, really, it’s way too soon for Nate to get hard again, but the way that Mick says, “Fuck, _Nate_ ,” when he comes, the way he seems to force himself to keep looking at Nate for just a few seconds longer before he closes his eyes, makes the hair on the back of Nate’s neck stand on end.

 

 *

 

“Not bad, Pretty,” Mick says ten minutes later as he throws a fifth wet wipe in the trash. He’s only dressed from the waist down, his jeans still unbuttoned, his shirt and jacket draped across the corner of the bed. “Definitely worth a repeat performance.”

 

“Thanks… I think.” Nate dropped his own wipes in the bin, making a quick note to empty it before Gideon tattled to Ray that it hadn’t been emptied for a while. He watches Mick finish dressing, watching the play of the shadows across the scars that cover his arms. Nate’s always assumed that they came from a fire, but the pattern’s all wrong. Mick catches his eye and raises an eyebrow.

 

There’s a knock on the door, sharp and to the point, before Nate can ask him how he got those scars.

 

“Yeah?” Nate calls.

 

“Sara wants everyone ready to go in ten minutes, preferably seated and strapped in. Oh, and we’re taking Gary back. He lost a nipple and thinks it’s too cool to get Gideon to make him a new one.” Zari. “Have you seen Mick? He’s not in his room?”

 

“Yeah, he’s here, I’m just getting him a book.” Nate grabs the closest book and shoves it into Mick’s hands. Mick snorts and Nate glances at the cover. Dante’s Inferno. Well, it’s fitting at least. He hisses, “Just act natural,” to Mick as he touches the panel to open the doors.

 

He’s not sure if the look Mick gives him means that he’s going to keep quiet or spill the beans to Zari in the next thirty seconds, and Nate isn’t sure which one he hopes it is.


End file.
